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Day 45: Where you ever insulted?Was I ever insulted? LOL well that’s a good one. Standing 5 foot 10 inches (1.75 meter) in my socks, I’ve suffered insults for as long as I can remember. For the longest time, my nickname was ‘the Eifel tower’, the knitting needle, the bean stoke … and that was my family calling me that.Because of these frequent insults, I began to stoop, hoping to appear shorter. Of course, that didn’t work.How did I overcome this ‘handicap’ ... a friend convinced me to join her in a modelling course. I didn’t feel much like it, but enthusiastic as she was, she didn’t want to go alone. So I gave in.The course ran over six months and we learned everything from how to stand, to how to walk, turn, sit, and how to show off an outfit to its best advantage. I was fairly successful getting runway contracts, where I met girls my size or even taller, and my self-consciousness about my height disappeared.Another factor that contributed to seeing my height as a positive vs. a negative was the fact nobody messed with me. If ever a man or a woman gave me a hard time, all I had to do was stand up. Invariably I was taller than them and they soon backed off.That’s not to say that I was immune to insults or recognizing the down points of being tall. With long limbs, try finding a pair of paints or blouses that fit. If the waistband of the pants fitted, the legs were too short. If the legs were long enough, the waistband was too big. She same with shirts. If the body fitted, the length of the sleeves were too short, if the sleeves were long enough, the shirt hung on me like a tent. As a result, I started wearing men’s trousers and shirts.Another down point of being tall was finding a job. Believe it or not, but quite a few managers and directors feel threatened by someone taller than them. I remember this one interview where I was shown into the boardroom where the managing director was already sitting at the table. I sat across from him, we started talking, and everything went fine. So fine in fact that I thought the job was in the bag. And then it happened … the man got up, I got up, and standing side by side he was at least a foot shorter than me. We looked like an olive and a toothpick. Needless to say, I never heard from him again.So, to all those people who wear super high heels in an attempt to appear taller … being tall isn’t all that great.Day 44: Where you ever insulted?

As a freelance writer, I am constantly on the lookout for new gigs. As such, I am a regular visitor on Craigslist. Not the best source of employment for freelance writers, but in the past, I have found some valuable information.

Unfortunately, for every legitimate job, there are a number of dubious posts. It is impossible to recognize these scams as the individuals use a generic Craigslist i.d.

Not only is this a deceitful practice but every ad raises hope in freelance writers to be considered for a job, only to have that hope smashed.

One individual who likes playing tricks on freelance writers is Eric Scott, also known as Scott Eric, Magnus Aanya, John Klevs, Shawn, and probably a few others.

His ads read as follows:

Creative talented writers $1000 weeklyHello, my name is Shawn and I am looking for 2 talented writers to help me with my publishing company. I am looking for those who can write short stories, blogs, and articles. Pay will be up to $30 per HR. Please Reply to email as it goes directly to my cell. I cannot have my text going off a million times.

Or

Working from home Hi there! We are working on a project and we need additional VIRTUAL ASSISTANTS or CONTENT WRITERS to help us to get the tasks done.Qualifications: good writing skills

** Option to make up to 200$ a month with only 10 minutes of work every day

When a writer responds to these ads the following message is received:

Goodday,

I am very sorry for replying you late i have been busy for the past three days now that is why i am unable to get back to you fast. My name is SCOTT ERIC, I am 60 Year old, I write in response to your message concerning the job posted on Craigslist which you're interested in, although the position has been filled but after going through your response, i'm quite impressed, but i have another position available if you will be interested, I am looking for someone who can handle my personal Assistance (PA) and business errands at his/her spare time.

I am in United State Of America ( U.S.A) presently so there will be no interview. I will prepay you in advance to do some business errands for me and have my mails/packages forwarded to your address. If you will be unable to stay at home to get the mails, I can have them shipped to a post office near you and then you can pick them up at your convenience. All errands will be in your city/town so It is not a must that you have a car for the job, you can go places by bus or taxi. When you get my mails/packages; you are required to mail them to where I want them mailed to. You won't have to put money out of your pocket, all you have to do is have packages shipped to your house. You ARE NOT ALLOWED TO OPEN THE PACKAGES TO REVEAL THE CONTENT. I will pay you $500 per week.

(email unedited)

Not only does this reek of a scam, it would appear that Eric Scott (or whatever his name is) is dabbling in something illegal. Packages that are not to be opened … hm, suspicious to say the least.

Needless to say, I did not follow up on this job, but the question remains ... when will Eric Scott, Scott Eric, Magnus Aanya, John Klevs, Shawn, or whatever his name is strike again and will he eventually find someone naive enough to fall for his scam?

It’s a gloomy day in Toronto. Dark, rainy, and while not exactly cold (it’s 17 degrees C – 62.6 degrees F) it’s an altogether miserable day.On a day, just like today, my folks got a call from friends, suggesting we all go take a walk in the local park. Excellent idea, mom thought, she used to love kicking the leaves as a child. So off we went.

In the park, there were plenty of trees and as such heaps of leaves. Crispy leaves in various shades of orange and brown. We behaved like children, running around, kicking and throwing leaves at each other. When my brother saw a particularly big heap of leaves, he kicked it like David Beckham preparing for a penalty. The next moment, my brother was in agony. The big heap of leaves wasn’t a heap at all but a rock covered with leaves. The result … a broken toe.

A few months later, we were vacationing in Italy and my brother couldn’t wait to go swimming in the sparkling blue Mediterranean. He dashed through the surf and was soon doing the breaststroke, crawl, and backward crawl, slapping and kicking around. One of those kicks got him into trouble. The heel of right foot made contact with a rock and his cavorting in the water came to an abrupt halt. Mom noticed that something was wrong and ran into the water to get him. In her haste, she too kicked a rock. They come out of the ocean, limping, the both of them. My brother with a severely bleeding heel, my mother with a severely swollen big toe.

Safe to say, my family didn’t treat their feet very well. And I’m no different.

For the longest time, my family used to tell me to wear shoes or at least slippers around the house, but did I listen … no, I’m either walking barefoot or in my socks. In fact, when I come home, kicking my shoes off is the first thing I do.

I did this, about a year and a half ago. I came home from grocery shopping and took my sneakers off. Then I went into the kitchen to pack away the groceries. Just to be clear, I unpacked and my son gave everything a place.At one point, he was crouched in front of the fridge and I was handing him fruit, veggies, juice, etc. Everything went fine until I placed a tin of pineapple on the open fridge door. To this day I don’t know exactly what happened but the tin slipped off the door and landed on my foot.

A searing pain exploded from my foot. A pain so intense that if you’d asked me for my name or phone number, I wouldn’t have known. Now if I’d kept my sneakers on this would have been a minor incident, as it was the tin landed on my socked foot and there was considerable damage. See for yourself.

Surprisingly nothing was broken. It took three weeks for the bump to heal, but after that everything was fine. Which goes to show, all this talk about getting older and developing brittle bones … my bones appear to be as strong as steel.

Dressing up for a Halloween costume party is fun. With a costume, you might get to step into another era, wear different clothes, different hair and adopt a different personality. You get to be someone else for the night.Dressing up as a couple is even more fun. You get to be someone famous for a while and enjoy their celebrity status. Need some idea for Halloween costume ideas for couples?

Fred and Wilma Flintstone

For Fred, you will need an orange ‘dress’ with black spots. For Wilma, you will need a short white dress raggedly cut and a big stone white necklace.

Sonny and Cher

For both of you will need clothing from the sixties, with huge bellbottom pants. For Sonny, you will need a shoulder length brown wig, for Cher a long black-haired wig.

David and Victoria Beckham

For David, you will need a soccer outfit. For Victoria, you will need a short haired brown wig, a short revealing dress, plenty of jewelry and super high heeled shoes.

Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler

Ladies, you have your work cut out for you there. For Scarlett, you will need a beautiful, romantic hoop skirt dress. The type of dress that Southern ladies used to wear circa 1861, and a wig of shoulder length brown wavy hair. Rhett is easier to create. A black suit, white shirt, bow tie, sleeked back black hair and a fine mustache. Being able to talk with a Southern accent is a bonus.

Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus

For Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus you can both dress practically identical in a white trimmed, red suit with a huge black belt and black boots. Mr. Claus will need a red floppy pointed hat, while Mrs. Claus will need a red and lace bonnet. Both will need wire-rimmed spectacles and grey hair, while Mr. Claus will also need a grey beard.

Cats

Alternatively, you can dress up as animals. A pair of cats, or a cat and a mouse. For this an all in one catsuit is needed, preferably black, with a tail. Pointy ears can be attached to an Alice band, the nose of the character is painted pink or black and next to the mouth whiskers are drawn.

Ghosts

Perhaps the easiest costume of them all, although not very practical to eat and drink in is that of a ghost. All you need to portray a ghost is a large white sheet, with two holes for the eyes, which is thrown over the couple’s head. This is not a very practical costume though for those who wish to eat and drink.

You are hereby directed to CEASE AND DESIST ALL DEFAMATION OF CONTENA’S CHARACTER AND REPUTATION.

If this content is not removed within (5) business days, we will will pursue all available legal remedies, including seeking monetary damages, injunctive relief, and an order that you pay court costs and attorney’s fees.

Please reply in writing as soon as the defamatory content is removed to avoid further action.

Thank you,

Kevin Fleming

Founder,Contena.co

Personally, I don’t know what Kevin gets so upset about because everything I wrote in my blog post was true.

Contena does charge a fee for writers to become members of the site. This fee can be paid in one lump sum, or prospective writers can make six payments of $99.

As a freelance writer, I belong to several writing sites and not one of them has ever charged me a fee.

Registration usually involved listing personal details or personal details and a test article. Never did any of the sites ask for money.

Needless to say, when threatened with legal I took the blog post down. So much for freedom of speech and freedom of the press. It would seem that one can only speak freely when positive things are being said.

Ever since I became a teenager I wanted to drive a car and I couldn’t wait for my 18thbirthday.

Dad promised that he would teach me to drive. As soon as I was legally allowed, I could take my place behind the wheel and he would take me on the road.Unfortunately, two weeks before my 18thbirthday my parents bought a new car and while dad was still willing to teach me to drive, I chickened out. I would have been fine driving the old car, but this brand new one … no, no way. Suppose something happened to it.

The years passed and I was already well into my twenties when my ex-husband suddenly decided that it was time I learned how to drive. One fine Sunday afternoon we got into the car, he drove to a secluded spot, got out of the driver’s seat and suggested that I take his place.

In my hands, the car hopped rather than drove and for the next twenty minutes the only words coming out of my ex’s mouth were “Give gas, give gas, give gas!”

Once I had the starting and stopping down it was time to actually drive and I tell ya … I was terrified.

For my fifth driving lesson, I was to drive us to a friend’s house and this usually 20-minute trip took me 45 minutes to complete. I drove at a snail pace and every time a car approached, I thought I was going to hit it. Upon arrival, my shirt was soaked with sweat.

Everything changed when September came around and I had to drive my son to school. Instead of driving only on Sundays, I had to drive every day, twice a day and that made all the difference. Within a week I was a confident driver.

Next, it was time to take my driver’s exam. I got full marks for the theory test, but the practical exam left much to be desired. My driving was fine, my three-point turn was fine, but where it came to parallel parking I flunked.

I had to wait two months before I could take the exam again, and again I flunked. That parallel parking didn’t agree with me. After another two month wait, I went back, on my birthday as it happened, and the driving instructor recognized me.

Once again the parallel parking was a disaster, but this time I put up a fight.“You seem very nervous,” the instructor said.“It’s because of you,” I told him. “When I’m alone in the car or with my husband, my parking is just fine, but now that I have to prove this to you, it just doesn’t work.”“Alright,” he said. “I’m gonna go get a coffee, you keep practicing.”

So I did. I practiced parallel parking on the right side and the left side of the road and each time it went perfectly.

When the instructor came back he told me to drive straight to the office. “What about my parallel parking that you told me to practice?” I asked him. “I’ve seen enough,” he said. “I’ve been watching you from behind the window and you’re more than qualified to get your license.”

Some people can’t function in the morning before they’ve had their first cup of coffee or tea. They are irritable, grouchy and altogether not properly awake. While some shower and get themselves ready when getting out of bed, other head straight for the kitchen.

While I appreciate a good cup of coffee too, I’m not as bad as some. I can wait until I’m at work. I usually first switch my computer on, see if there’s anything urgent, and then make my way to the nearest coffee shop.

However, last week there was a snag in my usual routine. When I arrived at my favorite coffee shop, I was told that they were all out of decaf coffee. Oh no, now that was bad news. While I’m perfectly capable of going without coffee for a short period of time, having no coffee all day is nothing short of a disaster.

There was only one thing for it … look for another coffee shop. I got directed to one further down the street. So, I walked, and I walked, and I walked some more. I finally arrived at the said coffee shop, and while it is part of a large chain in Canada, the shop itself was relatively small and packed with customers.

I queued for no less than 20 minutes and hoped that they too wouldn’t be out of decaf or this whole ordeal would have been for nothing. Fortunately, they had plenty of decaf coffeeto which I added a warm, crispy croissant.

By the time I got back to the office, the croissant was cold and my decaf coffee had noticeably cooled, but okay, it was better than nothing.

The following day it was cold and rainy and I didn’t feel like walking all the way to the far-away coffee shop, but I knew there was a new place up the street.

The coffee shop was unlike any other. Instead of being furnished with small tables, comfortable chairs and couches, this shop had four long wooden tables, surrounded by matching chairs. A young crowd was sitting side by side, working on their laptops or holding a tablet.

A glance at the sandwiches and pastries display cabinet told me this place wasn’t cheap. There was something about the foot-long sandwiches, holding ham, cheese or chicken in combination with lettuce and tomato that screamed, expensive! The fact that none of the goods held a price tag was also a dead giveaway that this place was for people with deep pockets. Just how deep I would have to reach into my pocket I was about to find out.

When I asked for a small decaf coffee and a croissant, the total came to $6,25.“How much?” I asked because I thought I misheard.“$6,25,” the girl repeated. “Would you like the receipt?”“Yes,” I said.

Usually, I’m not interested in a receipt, but this time I wanted to see how much the coffee and how the croissant cost. As it turned out the coffee was $3,75 and the croissant was $2.50. Good Lord, $3,75 for a small coffee! At my usual place, I get an extra-large coffee for that price. And $2,50 for a croissant, where did this croissant come from … France?Needless to say, this coffee shop was for emergencies only.

It's really is beyond me why companies don’t stock more of decaf coffee or some avoid it altogether. At my workplace, they have no less than 10 different coffees, 12 different teas, hot chocolate and an espresso machine but no decaf coffee. Yet when decaf is available, it’s the first type of coffee that is depleted.

As for tea … I enjoy a cup of tea almost as much as a cup of coffee, but because I can only drink decaf tea, my choice is limited. I have to stick to fruity teas or if I can find it Earl Grey Decaf. So, all in all, is there a certain decaf discrimination?

Day 38: This makes me so angry​I’ve just about had enough of this ‘#metoo’ nonsense, a campaign started by Alyssa Milano to draw attention to sexual assault.

Apparently, numerous singers and actresses are joining her in this project, all Tweeting ‘#metoo’, as well as ordinary people typing ‘#metoo’ as their Facebook status.

Little do they know that numerous actors complained about Alyssa Milano, accusing her of sexually harassing them. This particular actor in a scene of ‘Charmed’ complained that she just about ‘ate his face’.

As for those singers and actresses joining her in her ‘#metoo’ project … take a look at them. If these women are the target of sexual harassment, are the men really to blame for taking a chance? All of them are clearly sending the message ... LOOK NO UNDERWEAR! If it was permitted, they would bloody well show up naked.

And speaking of naked ... why not Google 'Alyssa Milano naked' and see what comes up. And this is a woman who complains about sexual harassment! LOL

Are you reading Dan Brown’s latest book ‘Origin’ yet? I picked up the book at the beginning of the week and the story is gripping right from the start.

While Dan Brown does an excellent job describing the scene, my curiosity got the better of me and I Googled a few of the things he described. For instance, the monastery in Montserrat, the Guggenheim Museum in Barcelona, the various artworks, a particular bridge in Budapest, a cathedral in the middle of nowhere, etc.

Of course, when I read on the subway, I can’t Google anything so then I have to make use of Post-it notes and stick them to particular pages of interest so I can Google this or that at a later time.

But speaking of the subway, it really isn’t a good idea for me to read ‘Origin’ on the train. I get so engrossed in the story that last week Friday I missed my stop. The first time I looked up I noticed that the train had stopped at Christie.

‘Christie?’ I thought, ‘I don’t pass a station called Christie. Christie is one stop after Spadina. Good grief I missed my stop!!!’ I quickly scrambled to my feet and got off the train.

On the streetcar, I didn’t fare much better. Even though the various stops are displayed on LED screens and a mechanical voice calls out the various stops, while reading I’m blind and deaf.

At one point I looked up though and saw the CN Tower. ‘That’s strange,’ I thought, ‘I never see the CN Tower.’ I glanced up at the LED screens and saw ‘Wellington Street’. Good grief, Wellington Street!!! I was way too far! If the next stop was Wellington Street that meant I had passed Queen and King Street without even noticing.

Damn Dan Brown, that was twice that ‘Origin’ got me into trouble and it wasn’t even 8:00 a.m. yet. And more trouble was just around the corner.

At lunchtime, I settled down on a comfortable couch in the company’s café and prepared for an hour of quiet reading. After what seemed like only 20 minutes or half an hour, Dave – a colleague – appeared at my side.

“Conny, are you coming back to your desk?” he asked.“Sure,” I said, “when lunchtime is over.”“Lunchtime was over 15 minutes ago,” he informed me.When I checked my phone I noticed that it was indeed 1:15. Damn not again!

Did you ever think that your ship just came in, only to find out that it was a dinghy and it was leaking? I had such hopes and dreams yesterday.

Around 11:00 a.m. I went out to buy a cup of coffee and noticed a zippered wallet laying on the side of the road. An open wallet and it looked like it was stuffed with banknotes. The wallet was actually bulging to the point that the zipper couldn’t close.

I wanted to pick the wallet up of course, but I exercised restraint as I’ve seen enough YouTube videos of pranksters making ordinary people look like fools. So, a looked to the left, and I looked to right, scanned the people across the street and when all seemed okay, I ever so casually sashayed over to the wallet.

I stole a sideways glance at it and tried to determine what type of banknotes it held … 10-dollar bills? 20-dollar bills? Maybe an even higher denomination? Whatever the value, I already had visions of a healthy addition to my savings account. The way the wallet was bulging there could have been between $2,000 or $5,000 or even more.

Once again, I looked to my left, to my right and across the street. When I felt sure that no eyes were on me, I bend to pick up the wallet. And oh, the disappointment. There was no money in the wallet, only a deck of playing cards. So off I went to buy my coffee with some lose change I had in my pocket and then it was back to work.

Speaking of finding money though … many years ago, my mom and I were shopping for school supplies when she noticed a bag in a telephone booth. She retrieved the bag and looked inside if there was a wallet. She found not one, but three wallets, all stuffed with cash. The wallets belonged to a certain Helena Vermeer. There was also an address and a telephone number.

Once home, mom took the money out of each of the wallets and counted it. One wallet held 3,000 franks (the setting is Belgium), the second wallet held 1,350 franks, and the third wallet held no less than 7,220 franks, altogether 11,570 franks. A considerable amount back in those days.

Mom called the given phone number and asked to speak to Helena Vermeer.“Helena Vermeer is my mother,” a woman said. “Or shall I say, was my mother, she died two weeks ago.”We were all stunned into silence. It was highly unlikely that a dead woman took her bag with her to go shopping.

To cut a long story short, the daughter had taken her mom’s bag and in her state of grief (or whatever) forgot the bag in the telephone booth.

She agreed to come over to pick up the bag and once she had arrived had the audacity to ask if all the money was still there. “I know exactly how much was in each of those wallets,” she stated. Then she snatched the bag off the table, asked if that was all, got up and left.“Next time when I find something,” mom said. “I’m keeping it.”

She got her chance less than a month later. Mom, dad, my brother and myself had taken a trip to Brussels to shop for clothes. A friend’s wedding was coming up and we all needed a new outfit, a dress for mom and me, a new suit for dad and my brother.

We visited several stores in the city, but none had what mom was looking for.

“What are you looking for?” dad asked, slightly exasperated as we left the fifth store.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but I’ll know it when I see it.”

And she saw it alright. When we passed a particular store, she pointed to a dress on one of the window mannequins. The dress was expensive though. So expensive that dad peered at mom over his glasses with a look that said ... are you serious?

“I hope they’re not closed,” mom said, glancing at her wristwatch. “It’s after six already.” When she reached for the door, she found that the door was slightly open and when pushed a silver bell tinkled overhead.

Right away we all knew that something was wrong. Not only was there no staff behind the counter, and were there no customers browsing the merchandise, all the lights were off.

“No way,” mom said. “With my luck, that dress could be sold between now and then.”

Dad reasoned that the store probably had more than one of those dresses, but mom was having none of it.

“So what do you want to do?” dad asked. “We can hardly stay here for the night.”

“There’s only one thing to do,” she said.

To our surprise she legged it to the mannequin, deftly removed the dress, folded it and placed it on the counter along with her name, her phone number and the request to call her.

The phone rang shortly after nine o’clock on Monday morning. From what we could hear, mom had a short conversation and then smiling put the phone down.

“That was the store,” she informed us. “The manager promised to keep the dress for me. We go back next weekend to pick it up.”

As soon as we walked through the door of the store the next Saturday morning, it was as if the manager (a lively Italian chap) recognized us. He came from behind the counter, asked if we were indeed the XXX family and shook hands with us as if we were long lost friends. The other customers in the store eyes us with interest.

Mam was shown to a luxurious dressing room to try on the dress that she had left on the counter the previous week and not only did it fit like a glove, she looked fabulous in it.

“And now for the rest of the family,” the manager said, waving at a nearby hovering salesman, who approached my dad and brother. Dad protested that we were only shopping for a dress, but the man waved his objections away. He happily chatted, in a way only Italians can, that my dad and brother must try on some of his suits.

As for me, I was whisked away by yet another sales person to look at party dresses.

It all went so fast, we hardly knew what was happening, but an hour later we were all kitted out in outfits that would raise more than one eyebrow. I had already raised my eyebrows when I saw the price of my dress. To say that it was expensive was putting it (very) mildly. Add to that mam’s dress, dad’s suit and my brother’s suit … the total would be astronomical!

Much to our surprise though, the dresses and the suits were boxed, bagged and handed to us without a stop at the cash register.

“We haven’t paid yet,” mom reminded the manager.

“My dear signora,” the man said. “I couldn’t possible charge you for your purchases. Everything is on the house and you will notice that I have supplied you and the young signorina with suitable handbags.”

Seeing how stunned we were, the manager went on “You could have walked out with anything you wanted last Saturday. But not only were so honest to leave the dress behind, but you closed the door so nobody else could walk in. Such honesty has to be rewarded.”We left elated and happy that some people still appreciate honesty.